


genometrics

by Elisye



Series: EXEC_REBIRTHIA=PROTOCOL/. [3]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, Simulation AU, my shoutouts to surge concerto continue but this time more blatantly, should i tag spoilers when ndrv3 tends to be spoiled for almost everyone now, this is literally just going to be "ouma and shirogane bonding" the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 14:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: [initiating dive. connection secured. reach into our hearts, and ascend deeper - till you know all of me, till I know all of you.]





	genometrics

**Author's Note:**

> _## structuring the world and its periphery into existence:_
> 
> S:H:W <= [[S_2016yI]] & [[S_3391aQ]];  
> FLIP S:H:W => DLVL_0.extends.GENOMETRICS;

 

QuelI -> {

     Cls(hymi f iz) {

          EX[xic] -> {tez}; 

 } am {

          EX[zep] -> {ciol f aw-b};

        }

} -> ExeC -> {RW};

_Command:_

_Disconnect soulspaces from the linear progression of time._

_Delude their senses within a loop of fantasies._

_Execute via the fourth axis._

 

 

 

 

"That's wrong."

 _Of course it is,_ your head supplies, on sarcastic autopilot.

In reality, your fingers stiffen in their position, stuck hovering a few millimeters above the enter key. Over your shoulder, a good ten steps away from your chair, a bored face stares at the various screens above your head. He blows a bubble of gum that pops too quickly, too deliberately, and you hear the room being filled with the sounds of obnoxiously-loud bubblegum chewing. Some of your coworkers pause at the new disturbance, glancing once without any further questions, or glancing for an extra second or three longer - just enough time for you to spy a few uneasy expressions that turn into a suddenly riveting interest in proofreading code.

A part of you wishes you could feign the same excuse and run away from having a bullseye on your back. But it won't work - the bullseye is super-glued there, having been planted there long before he even entered this room, before this exact fixture in time. The benefits of being a mousy, forgettable background character had expired just as long ago too.

So you sigh, mentally grit your teeth, and turn your chair around to face your guest. "Ouma-kun, this is a restricted area."

"Not my fault your security is terrible," he replies, flatter than his corpse in the simulation, still reading the screens. "Also, you typed that wrong."

You try not to frown. You fail. "Excuse me?"

"That part." He doesn't even lift a finger to show. "Where you're trying to execute the main simulation modules."

As much as you don't want to listen to someone who isn't even working for the company, much less someone who doesn't have any of the credentials required to be in this room, you don't really have a choice - it only makes a minor difference, but humoring him tends to be the quicker way to get him out of everyone's hair. You turn back to the terminal, scanning over the lines you've typed, and frown some more. "This looks fine to me."

"Well, lexicon-wise, it's fine. But you could definitely optimize it to run faster, don't you think?"

"Hm. And pray tell, how would I do that?" You don't bother to hide your severe disinterest in wanting his advice. Of course, Ouma doesn't care about whether you care or not yourself - the martyr's advice always wins over the villain's opinions.

The boy shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, humming thoughtfully. "Separate the descriptor from the object."

"That's just _more_ to process."

"Oh gee, Shirogane-chan, I thought you knew how your own systems work!" You don't dare yourself to look back and see what kind of mocking expression he has on his face right now. "You know this isn't going to be compiled one at a time, right? Not if you separate it into distinct bits."

You do not puff your cheeks and pretend you knew that. You only do the latter.

Whatever way he wants to see it, Ouma reads into your silence, blowing and popping a new air bubble of gum in a slow heartbeat. "—Then again, what do I know? I'm not an employee."

"Yes. That's right." You respond without thinking, clipping your tone to the most professional it can be without betraying any other feelings. "You're being a nuisance to people working to keep humanity alive and well. Now why don’t you leave - unless you want me to call the guards on you for trespassing again?"

For a moment, there is absolutely blissful silence. Idly, your eyes slide to a blank screen.

On it, a dead person gives you the nastiest smile in the whole universe. It takes mostly experience to keep your expression unfazed, your shoulders unflinching as the bullseye on your back burns away from the malice digging in, deeper than darts or knives ever could. With the mood filled with soured mirth, you expect a confrontation - a beloved return to cruel words and spiteful reminders, the resurrection of an antagonist from either or both of you - but contrary to anything, somehow, there is a sliver of pleasantries in place as Ouma crosses his arms behind his head, makes a sharp turn around, and heads for the exit after a solid minute of _nothing._

It's a silent, obedient gesture - which, considering who you're dealing with here, goes far beyond concerning and straight into alarming, complete with imaginary sirens going off inside your head. Persistence was written into his fake memories, you know that, you oversaw that. So you can't quite tell yourself to relax, not even as the door slides open, as the boy takes two unfaltering steps out of the room.

"—And here I thought I'd be nice," he says something, _finally -_  "by coming around and reminding you of our ice cream date today. Yamamoto-chan would be _so_ upset if you forgot, you know?"

And the door closes behind him.

Your face falls into a set frown the moment he's out of sight, unlikely to return. Turning back to the code you were working on, internally, you make rough estimations of the blocks you have to type out before you meet your self-made target for the day - it shouldn't take long with the turtle's philosophy of slow and steady, and the day isn't anywhere close to ending either. Ouma's visit didn't take a giant bite out of your time, thankfully and mercifully.

Though, well, assuming you ignore his reminder - which was unnecessary, because it never slipped your mind anyway - and never follow through with it. Even though it was arranged as a favor from a friendly acquaintance, or else you wouldn't have agreed to it in the first place. You're fairly sure that Ouma feels even worse about having to go along with this.

Tension coils around your nerves as you lean back into your chair, trying to nurse a building annoyance in your temples. You think - how hard can it be to excuse yourself from this, and how hard can it be to go out with him for a few hours? Both ways and alternatives are difficult to imagine without some unfortunate consequence happening.

But in the end, you decide, a favor is a favor. You have to humor it - or it won't reflect well on you otherwise.

You sigh maybe a little too much for your own liking, and soon enough, take your leave for the day.

 

 

 

 

"This is..."

She purses her lips. You look on with plastic glee, waiting, eager for nonsense.

"...A bakery."

"And a cafe! But close enough."

Your eyes turn to the ivy trail along the four-panel windows. They don't look fake. They might not be. They aren't.

"I thought we were going out for ice cream?" Curiosity singing clear - you look back at your companion, her own eyes tracing the branching pathways of the grape-ivy decorating the store front. You immediately tear away from the impulse to analyse her expression, to doubt just how artificial she acts and believes she is, and idle away the moment by crossing your arms behind your head. Disapproval hums past your lips, a theatrical sound without words.

"Indeed, Shirogane-chan. We _were._ " A cluck of the tongue. "I changed my mind after our last ice cream date. Ciela has terrible ice cream anyway."

The girl frowns at you, her gaze undecided between you and the ice cream shop right next to the bakery. The next-door shop has a hanging signboard near its doorway, the name _Ciela_ carved in a delicate font. You don't comment on the obvious - that's far too boring.

Shirogane decides, eventually, on focusing on you, contemplation clear behind a pair of grey glasses. She takes a second to adjust the frames, the clunky squares shining with the fake sunshine above. "So, this wasn't supposed to be an ice cream date to begin with."

"Nnnnnnope!"

"As expected from a pathological liar." She sighs.

"Of course, of course - thank you very much for the praise, Shirogane-chan." Your cheer tinkles like a wind-chime - delicate and false, false, false. The sarcasm underneath is sticky and reeks. You don't wait for her response and take quick strides towards the brick-paved storefront, shoving the door open with a lot, _lot_ more force than necessary. The bell above the door rings as you walk through, unpleasantly clanking instead of pleasantly charming, but that only makes your entrance even more dramatic!

Indoors, the warm smell of fresh bread weighs down your senses. Green and brown colors the walls and the furniture, an aesthetic mimicry of a forest everywhere the eye can see. You hum a bizarre tune as you approach the counter, only distantly registering the creaking sounds in the wood floor as Shirogane follows you inside. Your sudden appearance today catches a few curious eyes, some returning back to their own business with disinterest or recognition, though some of the stares persist longer than usual as they take note of your more unfamiliar companion trailing after you. Regardless of how mousy she can be, new is new, you suppose.

Behind the counter, a woman gives you a split-second frown before waving away the floating screens around her. Her attention doesn't flicker anywhere in the least as she sets a hand on her hip, exasperation rolling in waves with her body language. It's an amusing reaction, as always, so you simply keep smiling - the gesture feels light and easy.

"You know," the woman starts, slow but surely pissed off somewhere, "That door bell isn't made of synthetics."

"Oh, wow, I didn't know that at all!"

"Sure." You really didn't, though. " _Sure_ you didn't." Her frown simply deepens. "And I'm sure you didn't know that, if you broke that bell, you'd be paying hundreds in damages, right?"

"That's right!"

Your smile grows into a grin. It doesn't help with making a credible image here, but you doubt that's a necessity. Looking trustworthy would be nice and convenient when dealing with people - but that was a plan of action discarded ages ago.

The woman shakes her head, her sigh smothered with pent-up irritation. "Please, be damn _careful_ when you open the door next time. You can't afford to pay for it if it breaks."

"Ah, ah, that's pretty wrong of you to assume now!" You wag a pretentious finger in the air. "I have plenty of money to pay for stuff. That's how I can buy organic raspberry gum everyday!"

You watch as her expression morphs into something unimpressed, like a circus clown who just watched the lion tamer try to make a balloon animal do tricks. In your frank defense, a balloon animal can surely do some tricks - like getting popped with a pin and exploding into a colorful death of sparkles and confetti. "I think you're underestimating just how god damn expensive Earth-era stuff is."

"Naaaaaah, I've got a pretty good idea." Judging from how you've been treated - with the anxious care of a priceless heirloom and none of the ethical rights of a human being, you sure know how valuable you are as a living, breathing remnant of when humanity lived on a planet. It's not enough for your liking, but a part of you wonders, thinks, maybe, that it's justi—

" _Anyway!_ " The sharpness of your own voice is startling. "Even if I didn't have enough money, I've got backup plans for that!"

The cashier lady just folds her arms, an eyebrow raised with absolutely no expectations whatsoever. "Huh. Really now."

"Totally." You jerk a thumb in the direction of your companion, who immediately stops staring at a tray of banana loaves cooling on the far end of the counter. "If I ever break anything, just send the bill to her! She'll handle it juuuuuust fine now!

Shirogane can only blink as she turns towards you, apparently taking a very belated moment to actually review the conversation so far, before giving you another unimpressed look too. The woman behind the counter just shakes her head at the both of you, though you don't miss the very fleeting look of pity that she sends along the other's way.

"—Some friend you are. How can you be this irresponsible?"

"Plenty irresponsible. It's my middle name, after all." 

Your grin feels a tad crooked. On the sideline, your companion looks on with a pair of vapid eyes. Good to know that you're not the only one who believes being friends is downright absurd.

Either way, this is a line of discussion that doesn't need to continue. For a change of pace, you take quick stock of the baked goods on display. "—Anyway, four apple muffins for me! And nothing for Shirogane-chan, since she can't eat any of this stuff."

The woman, her hand raised, pauses between the motions. "Android?"

"Um, bio-android," Shirogane answers, softly. "But I probably shouldn't chance it, just in case."

"Gotcha. But if you do get hungry, you can always go to Ciela next door—"

" _Nope,_  no way, not happening." You loop an arm around Shirogane's, tugging her towards the nearest unoccupied table. "We came here together, so we have to go together! Our friendship is to-ta-lly over if Shirogane-chan leaves me for some fake, horrible ice cream. _Over,_ I say!"

For a spin of funsies, you start an effortless act of sniffling and spilling a river of crocodile tears. Muffled by your wailing—which you _delight_ in making sure is as loud and annoying as possible—the cashier lady mouths something that seems an awful lot like _I'm so sorry_ to Shirogane, who just sighs in response. You stop crying as soon as it's clear that no one's buying it - though, you suppose, it doesn't really take a genius to see that no one would ever buy it. Isn't that kinda disappointing?

Not really. It's _very_ disappointing, though. You free your arm and brush at your sleeves with hasty touches, as if any contact with Shirogane was like embracing fire. It's a good analogy for her, you think a bit, as you pick a seat at random - the ringleader of a murder game is, by plain logic, a dangerous person. A candle flame scattering sparks that can burn down an entire room with it, regardless of whether the candle intended to do that from the beginning. Not that intentions really matter now—it might not have been real, but it happened nonetheless. For you, it's an undeniable experience no matter what, and aren't experiences supposed to be the true building blocks of reality?

Shirogane settles into the chair opposite to you, idly patting her skirt for dust, probably. It's a demure and plastic scene - she can try to be civil all she likes, but the two of you know better than that. Her averted eyes say that. Better than perfect play-pretend, at any rate.

You lean forward with elbows set on the table, humming obnoxiously - and keep watch, as always.

 

 

 

 

 

 

EXmY[hymm] -> { 

                     XeEX[endi] -> {hymeliya}

                     -> EXaD[ors] -> {aw-p}; 

 };

_Keep singing._

(living, breathing, walking, waking, dreaming - and on the occasional bad day, scream profanities at any viable shape in the dark. shirogane is the easiest of them.)

_Nothing has ended yet._

 

**Author's Note:**

> writing in reon4213 again more like "DO I HAVE ENOUGH OPENING AND CLOSING BRACKETS?????????" aka reon is really no different from actual coding rip
> 
> also thanks for stopping by and reading!! if youve read this fic before and feel like you remember none of it, then thats not your imagination!! i totally rewrote ch1 bc the original ver. was lame!!!!! rip


End file.
